lost stars (trying to light up the dark)
by covetsubjugation
Summary: Bilbo leaves before Thorin wakes up. (botfa spoilers)


The battle was over.

They had won.

But it didn't feel like they had.

It was sheer luck none of the company had died. Fili and Kili were fine. They had suffered serious injuries to be sure but nothing was permanent. They would be okay.

But Thorin..

Thorin was still out. After all, getting stabbed through the chest by a particularly vicious orc wasn't exactly the thing you could just shake off. By some miracle, the sword had missed all vital organs, simply passing clean through flesh and bone.

It's my fault, the thought kept bouncing around in his head. It was his fault that the battle had even progressed to that point, that Thorin was not safe within the castle when the orcs arrived, that Thorin was out and fighting.

Of course, he understood that in a way, the whole battle was Thorin's fault. If he hadn't fallen so heavily ill, if he hadn't grown so attached to the gold, the battle against the elves and the men wouldn't even have happened and they would have been better prepared for the orcs.

It didn't feel that way thought. The albatross weighed him down as he stared at the prone form of Thorin, face pale and cold.

"I'm sorry."

"I should leave."

"What?!"

There was the expected roar of disapproval from the company when he told them of his wish to leave. After all, Thorin still haven't recovered fully, neither had his nephews. Erebor, while reclaimed, wasn't exactly in peak condition, there were many reasons why he shouldn't leave.

It's my fault.

"I just don't feel I can stay here anymore," he pleaded. He couldn't stay in the great halls of Erebor, not without Thorin. He shouldn't be here, not unless the king was walking through the halls, ruling as was his birthright. The place was just too quiet without Thorin's voice booming, the sound of his footsteps echoing.

"Technically," Bilbo tried on a wry smile. It felt fake and harsh. "I have been cast out. I'm not even supposed to be here."

"Laddie," Bali, the all-knowing dwarf whispered in his ears. "It's not your fault."

His throat closed.

"It sure feels like it."

The dwarves eventually let him go, but extremely reluctantly. They created as much trouble as possible to prevent him from leaving. They hid his things so he couldn't pack them properly, they gave him so many things that they needed another chest for him to bring them all back, they lied to him constantly that Thorin had awoken and looking for him.

Gandalf made them stop of course, fixing them with a stern look until they sheepishly brought back his things and stopped creating trouble.

On the day he was meant to leave, the day was a bright crystal blue, not a single cloud visible. Absently, Bilbo wondered what Thorin would have thought of it. He shut down that thought rather fast.

All throughout the last week, he found himself wishing for this day to arrive quicker so he could leave Erebor (and Thorin behind). But now, he found himself wanting to stay. He didn't want to go just yet.

All of the company had come to see him off. They stood in a long solemn line, watching him as he saddled up his pony.

He wanted to say something but he couldn't say anything at all. "Um."

All of a sudden, he was surrounded on all sides, each of the dwarves tightly hugging him, squeezing him until he could barely breathe. It didn't help that tears were pouring down his cheeks and his nose was stuck.

When they let him go, he finally found it within himself to speak.

"If you ever pass through Bag End," he began. "Tea is at 4. You are welcome anytime. And, um." Before his throat could close again, he rushed out, "Don't bother knocking."

The journey back was decidedly less dangerous than the one to Erebor. Maybe it was because this time he actually had the wizard to himself the whole way, or maybe it was because he wasn't being hunted by orcs. Either way, the journey home was safer.

It irked him.

Gandalf accompanied him back to the very edge of the Shire. "This is where I must leave you, Master Burglar," he announced.

"Well, you can certainly rest assured that I will not miss you," he joked, tempting the urge to beg the wizard to follow him all the way home, the very last living reminder of the company.

As Gandalf looked at him, his smile faded. "You're not the same hobbit that you were, Bilbo."

"No," the answer surprised him. "I'm not."

The wizard sighed. "I cannot say if that is a good thing, or a bad thing. But remember, Bilbo. As changed as you are, as brave as you are, you are still only a hobbit in a very large world."

As Bilbo turned to walk the remaining distance back to his home, Gandalf's voice suddenly reached him again. "Bilbo," he said softly. "Thorin will get better. And it is not your fault, remember that."

There was no way for him to answer.

It took a long time for him to settle down, what with having to search down every single piece of his furniture. Some hobbits were willing to give it back, some weren't. In the end, Bilbo had to give away lot of his money just to get everything back.

The larders were eventually filled, the furniture dusted and the floor scrubbed. The windows were wiped and slowly, slowly, Bag End started to look as it did before.

But he itched under his skin, an invisible thing he couldn't scratch.

While he loved everything in the Shire, and he enjoyed not having to worry about where his next meal was coming from, Gandalf was right in saying that he had changed. He wanted to be out and about again, he couldn't bear to sit still in his armchair and just be anymore.

Perhaps, he thought bitterly, this was the price of adventure. The price of leaving home and having it fill his blood.

The months crawled past. The company wrote a lot and he treasured every single one of those letters. Fili and Kili's letters were scribbled furiously, detailing how Erebor had changed since he had last seen it. Balin's letters were painstakingly printed, each letter a work of art, keeping him up to date with the other dwarves.

He wrote back eagerly for he missed every single one of the dwarves and longed to see them again. The next time a letter arrived for him, he wrote back without thinking.

I'm thinking of coming for a visit.

The arrangements were eagerly made. Gandalf, if the wizard could be found and persuaded, would bring him back to Erebor and he would stay there for as long as he liked. When he saw the dwarves again, it would have already been a full year.

The night before Gandalf was due to pick him up, Bilbo lay awake in his soft bed, tossing and turning. Through his window, the moon shined happily down at them. He would see the dwarves soon, he thought to himself. The whole company would be there to receive him.

He fell asleep with that happy thought in mind.

The next morning, he was up early in the morning. He sat in his chair, bouncing with excitement. When the knock finally came on the door, he was about ready to start running towards Erebor, with or without the wizard.

Flying to the door, his bag strapped to his person, he threw it open.

"Gandalf!" he greeted cheerfully but as he looked up, he saw not the weathered face of the wizard but instead the face of a certain dwarf prince.

"Hello Master Baggins," came the low voice. "Can I come in?"

Thorin looked exactly the same, except maybe a little thinner. His hair was still its usual brown, his braids hanging down along his face. His jaw was as strong as ever and his eyes were their usual shade of light grey but they seemed rather saddened.

"Thorin," Bilbo breathed. "You look well."

A small tired space graced his face, but it quickly left. He leaned forward heavily. "Bilbo," he said. "You were not there when I awoke."

"No," Bilbo agreed. "I was not."

Thorin's jaw clenched. "Why not?"

"Why not?" he laughed, he could feel the tears starting to well up. He whirled around to stare at the dwarf. "Do you understand what it is like to think that someone you love, someone you have given up everything for, someone who you were desperately trying to save, nearly died because of you?"

"I wasn't there, Thorin, because I couldn't be. I couldn't look at you without thinking how unfair it would have been if you had actually died, because let's face it, it's a sheer miracle you didn't, and if you had actually died, it would have been all my fault because I care way too much for you and I should have been the one instead because it is all my damn fault anyway!"

"I couldn't stay at Erebor because I couldn't stop missing you. The place wasn't the same without you around. It was too quiet and every time I was left alone with my thoughts, it would just go back to the same place and the guilt was killing me. Not to mention, you had thrown me out anyway. So no, I couldn't stay, Thorin, because I can't stay and pretend everything is okay when it is clearly not."

"I nearly killed you, Thorin."

"Enough," Thorin bellowed. "That is enough." The dwarf sank down to his knees and grabbed Bilbo.

"It is not your fault, Bilbo," he says gruffly. "It's no one's fault but mine. I was the one who had been seduced by the gold, I was the one who was too selfish to give it up. Please, Bilbo, it was no one's fault but mine, do not blame yourself."

The tears were flowing freely as he threw himself into Thorin's arms. He burrowed himself against the clothed chest and cried as he had wanted to for the last terrible nine months. No matter how he had tried to convince himself that the battle wasn't his fault, he had not succeeded. He had missed Thorin dearly and even away from the mountain, the guilt remained. And now with Thorin whispering apologies into his hair, for the first time since he had learned that Thorin had fallen, the guilt was slowly fading away, laid to rest by the man in front of him.

Slowly, he came back to his senses and realized that the two of them were just sitting on the floor, in each other's arms.

"Sorry, I'm so sorry," he said, still sniffing, as he tried to pull himself from Thorin's grasp. The dwarf's fingers tightened against his back and he stopped himself from pulling away, looking up into Thorin's face instead.

Now his eyes seemed less sad.

"Did you mean it?" Thorin asked. "You said you loved me, did you mean it?"

His mouth was dry. Everything that he had wished for was coming true in that moment. With his heart in his mouth, he nodded.

A genuine smile grew across Thorin's head. He isn't sure if he or Thorin was the one who leaned forward but it didn't matter for now they were kissing and that was very good.

Thorin's beard was rough against his face but he smelled nice, for he smelled like the earth and a thick woody scent. His lips were surprisingly smooth but he kissed hard and rough, as if he couldn't get enough. His thick fingers were wrapped around his back, his body warm and solid against his. Bilbo gave in to his temptation and dove his fingers into Thorin's hair, feeling the thick strands run through them. His heart was beating twice as fast and he was smiling so wide, he had no idea how his lips were even still against Thorin's. He kissed his lover back as best as he could, because he was filled with so much love he wasn't sure how he could contain it. He broke the kiss, but the distance between their mouths was small as the air filled with their breathless pants.

"I love you."

Everything was okay again.


End file.
